The Road Not Taken
by Mistress V
Summary: Spock Prime meets a very different Christine Chapel.


A short one shot response to a challenge of Spock Prime seeing Christine Chapel in the new timeline. This is meant to be a stand-alone fic---it, and what's set out here, does not follow or precede the ATOS shorts series I am also writing. The Instituit Pasteur and the office of the Federation President are both located in Paris, France (in reality and according to the *Star Trek Encyclopedia* ).

The title refers to one of the verses written by the American poet, Robert Frost.

Legal stuff: They own it, I write for no profit. Copyright Mistress V 2009, my own work product belongs to me.

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The Road Not Taken (ATOS) 1/1 (K)  
by Mistress V

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by.  
And that has made all the difference."  
From Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" ©1915.

Spock Prime took a deep breath of Parisian spring air and began walking.

It was a refreshing change from the recirculated starship air he and his father had been living in for the past days as they made the journey to Terra from the new Vulcan colony. Sarek and the Federation president, very old friends, were having an informal breakfast before the colony's official progress report was to be delivered that afternoon. His son unexpectedly and gladly found he had a few hours free so he was determined to use them exploring one of his mother's favorite cities.

This City of Light had also suffered during the wars of Terra's not too distant past. Like the Paris he knew from his youth, however, it had been rebuilt with fortitude and determination and now stood as it once had. Bigger, perhaps, and the architecture was definitely more modern, but there above it all was the Tour Eiffel, so all was indeed still right with this world.

It was the same, yet different. That was the mantra that flowed through his brain these days. The people and places he had been seeing seemed odd at first, somewhat out of kilter, yet equally as familiar. Something like that incident where Losira the Kalandian had rebuilt the old *Enterprise* . Only now, there was no danger of things blowing into the microcosm. And once those initial assessments faded, everything seemed to slide back into a familiar jigsaw puzzle picture, but with twists here and there.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee beckoned from a corner cafe. He took a sidewalk table under a bright red awning and ordered an extra strong Vulcan Mocha au Lait and a croissant. He glanced around as he breakfasted, noting the lilt of many languages, and not just from the Terran family. Beings from across the quadrant also found Paris a pleasing spot to visit or reside in this universe.

His gaze was caught by a pair of green-skinned Orion women, both sporting impossibly chic Parisian hairstyles----and white lab coats, chatting amicably in French. His eyes followed them discretely as they crossed the street and made their way through the wrought iron gates of the place he had also come to visit.

The Institut Pasteur.

The purpose for his being here was to procure the latest findings of the Vulcan exoimmunologist, Dr. Silan, who had been working at the facility for some years at the time of Vulcan's destruction. His records of Vulcan medical history had proved invaluable to the colony of late. Despite the noble intentions of its founding, illness paid no heed and visited now and then. Nothing fatal, thankfully, but it was always logical to be prepared. The scientist had been analyzing the planet's biological makeup and now had data to share with the elders. Spock was here to obtain that and meet briefly with the researcher.

That, and only that, he told himself for the hundredth time. But in his heart, he knew there was another reason. The report could easily be obtained through the computer database, and the social call take place later, with his father in attendance. No, there was another living, breathing reason Spock wanted to visit the venerable institute, and that was one of its research exobiologists, Dr. Christine Chapel-Korby.

Since his return to this timeline, he' d pored through the history of this Terra, noting all that was familiar to him from his own life. Not only of Terra, but of the quadrant in general. His curiosity was piqued, he wanted to know what might lay ahead for them all. There would be no bonding with T'Pring, he was relieved to learn. She had not escaped the planet, though the couple had been betrothed. The woman's character had obviously not been altered much---Stonn was very much in the picture here, too, he'd learned. Another road to take was his younger self's for the choosing. Spock Prime also wondered about places and people like Memory Alpha, the Tholians, the Guardian of Forever, Captain Christopher, Tarsus IV, Ben Finney, Gary Mitchell, and the mysterious Flynn, among many others.

And Christine, of course. He had not seen her aboard the new *Enterprise* . In fact, several crewpeople he had worked with in his time were not in Starfleet at all, apparently. All of them were pursuing other life choices. Christine's in particular was interesting. She had in fact married Dr. Korby, not just become engaged to him. The couple had a daughter, Aimee. Korby was as revered and astute in this time as he was in Spock Prime's own. The journey to Exo III had been inconclusive and short. No loss of the scientist, no rescue attempts, no nefarious shadowy android world, no need for a prominent researcher to leave her career and sign aboard a starship as its nurse. No meeting of the two of them, then. Whose loss? Whose gain?

He shrugged inwardly, recalling his own stubborn self's treatment of the Christine he knew. Not one of the better phases of his youth, he chastised himself. Even after Gol and his return to the *Enterprise* , he could not help his reaction when he saw she was now the medical officer there. Was that one of the reasons she so quickly stood down and left for a planet-side assignment? That Christine eventually married an admiral in Starfleet and the couple had a good life together for many years, years that included three fine children. And all of them in turn served in Starfleet.

It would not be logical to delay his visit any longer. The report was needed for the afternoon's sessions and the morning was on the wane. He paid his bill and strolled across the wide Parisian boulevard towards the complex. The Institute retained much of its original brick and wrought iron original appearance, though it now sprawled out in a series of progressively more modern outbuildings. He signed in at the front desk and was told Silan would meet him in a conference room in a few moments.

The lobby had a wall filled with staff photos. He stopped to study them, recognizing a few names that were the same from his own time. There was Dr. Korby, esteemed and distinguished, even with the same graying temples. The next photo was a shock, however. This Christine's eyes were more of a sea green, not the bright clear blue he knew so well. And her hair! It was dark mahogany brown, cut in the short style now in vogue that made her appear even younger than she was. The fine character lines of motherhood had found their way to her pretty features, though. Still, she was beautiful. For some reason, he felt a tug at his heart strings, a decidedly un-Vulcan feeling he'd long ago learned was part of his mixed nature.

He made his way onto the lift and spoke the designated floor. There was an intermediary stop, however, for another passenger. Spock Prime was amazed to find the woman from the photo he'd just been looking at now stood beside him---and was headed to the same floor that he was. He gave her a polite nod but was completely unprepared for what happened next.

"Ambassador Spock?" the woman asked.

"Yes, I am Ambassador Spock," he replied. "Have we met?"

The woman offered a professional handshake. "Forgive me. I'm Dr. Chapel-Korby. No, we haven't met, sir, but I work with your Vulcan colleague over in xenoimmunology. He's been quite talkative, for him, about your visit. So I guess you could say I know you vicariously. "

"I see." The lift stopped and the pair exited. "You say your specialty is xenoimmunology? What are you currently researching? "

"The usual stubborn suspects that have no cure and devastate. Iverson's Disease, Bendii Syndrome, Darnay's Disease, the list goes on. It seems every time we find a cure for one deadly pathogen, three new ones spring up in their place."

Christine's voice was bright and breezy as she spoke of her work. She still had the height, though her figure was much more slight than the one he knew. Her pace was strong and he hurried to keep up with her.

"Unfortunately, that is usually the way things are," he conceded, all the while assessing his companion. She was self-assured, dynamic, light years away from the other Christine he'd known, yet he felt that beneath the professional demeanor probably lay a soft center. He sensed it in her eyes when she talked about the increasingly more horrific diseases that were being fought against across the quadrant.

"Well, here you are, sir. Dr. Silan should be along in a moment. If I know him, he's still calibrating his latest data. May I get you anything? Some coffee or a Perrier, perhaps?" Christine hit the button and the meeting room's doors opened.

"Nothing for now, Doctor. Thank you, though. May I wish you the best of luck with your research? I know it must be challenging at times."

There was so much he wanted to say, but how could he? It was obvious this Christine had no clue about the past he'd shared with her other self. Starfleet had lidded down most of the personal details of his astonishing story for just that purpose---to prevent unwanted surprises. Perhaps that was for the best.

"Thank you, sir. It's a difficult road to travel, but someone has to do it, right?"

And with that and a smile, the woman headed down the hall, watched by the man she had left behind. He noted a familiar figure came out of a nearby lab and greeted her warmly. Korby. Together, they went back to whatever project they were currently working on.

Spock Prime stood there for a few moments, his hands behind his back, thinking. He'd not taken what the other Christine had offered him, though in later years he had come to question the logic of his decision. She'd been a good and decent woman, hard-working and dedicated yet he'd dismissed her advances because he could not stand the thought of emotion clouding a relationship. Except during the logical time it needed to be there, however distastefully. A fleeting memory of a flying bowl of plomeek soup caused him to shake his head a bit sadly. That Christine was as lost to him as this one was to his younger self. What might have been, he wondered.

Sometimes, he thought, the road he himself had chosen might not have been the best one, after all.

FIN.

The Institut Pasteur is a prominent research center for the study of disease, headquartered in Paris but also with branches around the world. I do hope it will continue to function in the future I write about.

I mention the TOS ep, "That Which Survives" and its female protagonist, Losira, as well as many other references to that series.


End file.
